Syndrome
by RRym
Summary: At the very start, Albus Dumbledore asks Hagrid and Prof. McGonagall to leave before him. He proceeds to tuck young Harry Potter into his makeshift cradle.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; J K Rowling does.**

**A/N: Partially inspired by a sick fan fiction that featured an insane guy screwing his poor Gardevoir.**

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**Syndrome**

**X**

Dumbledore looked down his crooked nose at the slumbering baby. Beside him, Hagrid and McGonagall were looking at the child with morose expressions; it was clear that they did not appreciate the notion of sending young Harry Potter to a family of Muggles who detested magic. The old and wise headmaster of Hogwarts breathed softly, before saying, "Professor McGonagall, Hagrid, I will take over from here." They did not seem willing to comply with his request, but his silent profile allowed no other option. Hesitantly, almost unwillingly, they left; Hagrid flying off into the sky in his air-traversing motorbike and McGonagall vanished on the spot with a swirl of her robes.

Dumbledore looked at the baby perched tenderly in his arms; the usual twinkle in his vibrant blue eyes has all but disappeared. Despite what he has proposed and suggested, he _did _not wish to send young Harry Potter to what could possibly be a dark-tinted childhood. The wise man paused; he should know, but as always, he chooses to believe. With one last tender smile, the wise man settled the baby back in the makeshift cradle, before standing upright and prepared to disapparate there and then.

Dumbledore's eyes widened as something seemed to knock into him from behind. Whirling around instantly, he scanned the surroundings. It was conspicuously empty. The wise man's eyes narrowed. Had he imagined that particular feeling? Had he imagined someone knocking into him from behind?

The headmaster massaged the creases of his eyebrows with a hand. It looks like he was truly getting old; such mundane happenings did not even serve to jolt him in the slightest in the past. Sighing, Dumbledore turned, intending to deliver one last look at the slumbering baby in his cradle before returning to the castle.

He caught sight of the baby. He should have been satisfied. He should be swirling on the spot; making preparations to disapparate back to the castle which was Hogwarts. Yet, he did not do any of the aforementioned 'should's. Instead, he found his gaze drawn to the boy, unwavering and unmoving. His wrinkled hands fidgeted at his sides as he walked towards the boy… no, _steered towards_ will be a better preposition here. The wise man tried to speak, but no words came out. He gripped his wand limply in his right hand, intending to utter a non-verbal spell. Yet, almost as if it was in reaction to his thought, the wand dropped out of his grasp and landed on the floor.

Dumbledore instantly made to retrieve the fallen wand, but his body refused to move. Or rather, his body was still walking towards the slumbering boy. He narrowed his eyes; has a movement curse been placed on him? Yet, it did not seem so. Curses often had a lethargic feeling inflicted alongside it; Dumbledore did not feel the slightest of discomfit at the moment.

Approaching the boy ever closer, he wondered what the intention of the hidden wizard might have. It was obvious by now; the collision earlier on had clearly not been a figment of his imagination. Slowly, he walked, until finally he was right in front of the boy and stopped in his tracks.

Dumbledore could not resist as his hand slowly reached out for the boy; his body wasn't his anymore. His eyes began to widen, the brilliant blue eyes marred by fear and apprehension. A sinister curse manoeuvring his movements and the baby who single-handedly ended Voldemort's long-running reign; it did not take him a second to figure out what the unknown wizard was after.

_Stop… please… _Dumbledore pleaded silently. Yet, his hand has reached its mark; he was grasping the baby's arm with excessive force. Young Harry Potter seemed to react at the touch; jerking awake, the baby took a brief look before registering the pain being inflicted on his small body. Dumbledore withered within as the baby cried and struggled in the makeshift cradle.

The old man looked up, half-expecting to see muggles step out of their threshold and stop this mad man gripping a mere baby to the point of tears. Yet, he did not hold much hope for it as the houses remained impassive, unmoving. The mysterious wizard, whoever he was, had done his or her homework; everything had been planned beforehand.

Dumbledore's hand started to move along the baby's arm; he choked as his hand shot straight for the pudgy neck. Within seconds, his hand was clenched tightly around young Harry Potter's neck.

_No… no… _the old man begged. Yet, his hand refused to let go. He watched on with desperate eyes as the baby's turned from pale to a vague, light red, before flashing to a flushed red. Young Harry Potter's small arms and legs flailed silently in the air as he fought for breath; Dumbledore's mind seemed to melt as he fought for freedom. Slowly, the small limbs ceased all motion and hung to the side limply.

Dumbledore's eyes widened as young Harry Potter closed his eyes for the final time. He stared at the lifeless baby in his grip, unaware that he was breathing heavily. The curse has passed, yet he did not realise it. All he knew was the dead baby in his hand, and the fact that _he _had caused it.

**_Two months later_**

Professor McGonagall looked over her spectacles at the piece of newspaper she was perusing; her eyes were grim and hollow. She flipped a page, before glancing at the top article on her left. She knew that should she move on, but it was hard to.

_Albus Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts, has been apprehended on possible charges of having killed young Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, with his bare hands. Reasons have not been clarified, but theories suggest that Dumbledore has developed a serious case of multi-personality disorder._

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**A/N: Dead babies, dead babies everywhere.**


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